


Fast Learner

by hearmerory



Series: Change of Address [11]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Autistic Zuko (Avatar), Azula (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Azula (Avatar) Redemption, Azula (Avatar)-centric, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Crazy Azula (Avatar), Emotional Manipulation, Gay Zuko (Avatar), Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Just a Mention, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Narcissism, Narcissistic Parent, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry, Theater Nerd Zuko (Avatar), Victim Blaming, Witnessing Domestic Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:28:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26831422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearmerory/pseuds/hearmerory
Summary: Azula is a fast learner.She molds herself.She buries the parts that Father won't like.She creates parts Father might love.She experiments, and tests, and prunes herself until she is what he wants. Until she's safe, and favored, and powerful and his loyal, perfect daughter.She cannot be like Zuko.
Relationships: Azula & Iroh (Avatar), Azula & Ozai (Avatar), Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Change of Address [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928572
Comments: 67
Kudos: 667





	Fast Learner

She’s four, the first time she sees.

Father had been watching them practice after martial arts, running through katas in the garden.

She had mastered the three moves during class, and practice was just doing them over and over, setting her balance correctly and experimenting with different ways to flex her hands on each finish.

Zuko had not mastered the three moves, even though he hadn’t advanced to the next age group at the end of the year. He was only a few months older than the others, but Father hadn’t liked it.

Mother had ushered Zuko away when Father had started shouting, but the children had listened.

Now, though, Zuko still isn’t perfect. He keeps losing his balance, and his movements are stiff and clunky.

It’s the third movement that does it.

Instead of spinning on the high kick, he lunges forward, his entire body careering into the ground.

She looks at him for a moment, as tears gather in his eyes.

She glances at Father to check his face, to see if she’s supposed to help or laugh.

Father stands up.

Zuko rolls onto his back and starts bawling, his right knee scraped from his fall.

Azula tenses. He’s not supposed to cry. He knows that. He _knows_ that!

“Stand up,” Father towers over Zuko, his voice cold and uncompromising. Azula shudders a little. You have to do what Father says, when he talks like that. You have to do it immediately, without questions, without hesitation.

Zuko doesn’t stand up.

His hands flap against the ground beside him, and his face is red, screwed up with the effort of crying.

 _Stand up!_ Azula wants to shout. She wants to pull him up and stand him in front of Father, like he’s being asked. Why doesn’t he just do as he’s told?

Father doesn’t wait for Zuko to follow his instructions. In one fluid movement, he reaches down, takes hold of the front of Zuko’s t-shirt, and hauls him to his feet.

Zuko sobs.

“Stop crying,” Father orders, and Azula holds her breath, something inside her quivering with the need for him to obey. _Just do what he says. Just do what he says._

Zuko doesn’t stop crying.

Father’s left hand grips tight in the front of his shirt.

His right hand draws back, and Azula can see its path, just like in martial arts class. She can see where it’s going.

She doesn’t dare look away.

She’s never seen anyone hit before.

Not in real life.

Not outside of the dojo, with their practice mats and tiny white uniforms.

Father’s hand collides with the side of Zuko’s face, and he holds him upright even as he’s forced sideways with the force of the blow.

Azula keeps her face as blank as she can make it, keeps her breathing as silent as she can go.

Azula wishes Zuko would copy, that he would go silent too, but he doesn’t. He’s still crying. Maybe even worse now.

The hand strikes again, and Azula sees the movement, the impact, the tiny spray of blood from the split lip as it completes the arc.

Zuko just... doesn’t stop crying.

He’s sobbing like he’s dying, like he can’t pull in enough air.

Father drops him, and he falls to the ground like a dead weight.

“Again,” Father orders. Zuko’s hands flap wildly, tugging at his hair like he hasn’t just been slapped.

There’s a beat of time where Azula doesn’t breathe, hoping and hoping that he’ll stand up, that he’ll run his kata, that he’ll get it right. That Father will smile at them and send them back inside for a snack.

It’s a pointless hope, and she knows it.

Father is so close she can smell his cologne. She stands perfectly still, waiting for something to happen.

Zuko doesn’t get up.

Zuko doesn’t stop crying.

Zuko doesn’t do his kata.

Father makes a growling noise of frustration, and fear jolts through Azula’s stomach.

Zuko starts rocking, his hands tangled in his hair, little grunting whines escaping from his throat.

Father grabs his arm and yanks him back upright.

He’s disobeyed two direct orders, and Azula doesn’t want to know what happens next.

She doesn’t want to know, but she hasn’t been dismissed.

Father would tell her if he wanted her to go, and she hasn’t been dismissed so she has to stay.

“You disappoint me,” Father hisses into Zuko’s face, his mouth twisted with distaste and violence. “You can eat when you do it right.”

Father shoves him away, and Zuko stumbles back down onto the grass with a grunt, his eyes screwed shut and leaking. He clutches at his hair and scratches deep into his scalp, and Azula twitches to go to him, but pulls herself back.

Then Father turns to her, his face relaxing down from rage to subtle pride.

“Well done, Azula. You may come inside.”

“Thank you, Father,” she bows.

She follows him inside, her heart thudding wildly, without glancing back at her brother.

“He has to learn,” Father seems to sense her hesitation, her worry. “He’s weak, and useless. He’s almost two years older than you, and he’s still behind.”

“Yes, Father,” Azula nods. She tries not to think of how crumpled and small her brother looked in the grass.

* * *

Azula is a fast learner.

She learns that Father likes her when she succeeds. He smiles when she gets good grades. He smiles when she masters katas. He smiles when she throws stones at the ducks.

He rests a warm, large hand on her shoulder when she says mean things to Zuko. When she laughs at his little stutter, or trips him in the garden, or flicks him in the forehead when he’s stupid.

Father lets her hold his hand when she tells Mother she hates her.

Father pats her head when she tells Zuko she doesn’t want to be around idiot little freaks like him.

Father likes her when she smiles the smile she’s been practicing in the mirror. The one that looks like his. Father likes her when she points the smile at someone and makes them do what she wants.

Father likes when she makes people do what she wants.

Father tells her, sometimes, that she is a perfect copy of him. That she will grow up to be just like him, one day. Successful. Powerful. Respected.

She wants those things.

Azula is a fast learner.

She molds herself.

She buries the parts that Father won't like.

She creates parts Father might love.

She experiments, and tests, and prunes herself until she is what he wants. Until she's safe, and favored, and powerful and his loyal, perfect daughter.

It only takes a couple of times, seeing the consequences of being like Zuko, to make her want Father to be pleased with her.

She cannot be like Zuko.

She cannot absorb all those pointed words and sharp blows like he does.

But she doesn’t need to, she reminds herself. She is Azula, and she is perfect.

She can make Father happy.

* * *

The first time it happens and Mother isn’t there, Azula doesn’t know what to do.

Mother’s gone, and she’s not coming back, and Azula _doesn’t know what to do_.

The sounds Zuko makes... she thinks, vaguely, that he sounds more like an animal than a person. That a real person wouldn’t make sounds like that. That a real person wouldn’t be rocking backwards and forwards on the floor with hands clasped over their ears, their eyes screwed shut.

Real people would have been fine with the Christmas lights flashing, fine with the men in the corner talking loudly and holding glasses of amber liquid, fine with the children playing with their new toys.

But Zuko isn’t fine. Zuko is making that noise Azula hates. The noise Father hates. And Mother isn’t _here_.

Azula wonders, for a moment, if she should be Mother, in her absence. If she should gather Zuko up in her arms and squeeze right across his shoulders. If she should let him bury his tear stained face in her sweater, and let him hide from the light and sound.

She wonders if she should run her hand through his hair, like Mother does, and whisper calm words in his ear. If she should rock him, in a quiet, slow version of the movement he’s making right now, and hope that he’s quiet before Father notices.

Father.

Azula shakes the idea of Mother out of her head. She is not like Mother. She is like Father. She is strong, and useful, and clever. She knows what she’s doing. Always.

Father notices before she steps forward to fill his place.

The spark of dread as she watches Father approach her brother is quickly squashed. If he didn’t want to be punished, he shouldn’t have misbehaved.

She steps towards Zuko at the same time Father does, and they meet next to him.

She hears her Father’s gruff voice. She hears the squeak of terror that leaves her brother’s mouth as Father picks him up from the middle of the party.

She clenches tiny fists as Father scoops Zuko up under his arm, his limbs hanging like a doll, his head facing backwards as Father marches to the next room.

Azula follows, because she hasn’t been dismissed and she doesn’t know if she’ll be next if she disobeys, and there wasn’t an order so she doesn’t know.

Father carries Zuko further into the house, into the next room. It’s quieter there.

Zuko is crying, his hands slapping at the side of his head, his eyes still squeezed shut.

Other people are watching. So there are no blows.

Azula doesn’t know what to do.

Father walks straight to the corner, the tiny frame of her brother held tightly under his arm, and throws him down.

Zuko lands in the corner, crashing against the wall and the floor, tumbling down to his hands and knees.

“Turn around,” Father snaps. Zuko does nothing, except that his hands still slap and flitter around him. Except that he’s rocking, and shaking, and making that _noise_.

Father grabs his hair and pulls him around, shoving his face into the corner. Zuko’s hands splay across the wallpaper, white and trembling.

“Stay there if you know what’s good for you,” Father hisses, “if I hear you again tonight, you won’t sit for a week.”

He turns away from Zuko, and puts a hand on Azula’s shoulder.

He doesn’t look at her, but Azula feels the approval in the warmth of his palm.

When they collect Zuko at the end of the night, his entire body is trembling, his back soaked in sweat, his gaze distant and terrified.

Azula doesn’t understand why it’s so impossible for him to be normal. Why he can’t just sit with the other children and open their gifts. Why he can’t do as he’s told.

She hears the thuds and moans later that night, through her bedroom door.

He should have done as he was told.

Zuko doesn't learn.

* * *

Azula is a fast learner.

She learns that sometimes she has to lie. She has to bend other people’s will to hers. She has to do this so that she can win.

Win at Father.

Win at Zuko.

Win at life.

She practices.

She starts with Zuko. He believes everything she tells him, unquestioningly.

He’s a good test subject. He can’t lie back, even when she tries to teach him. He doesn’t understand.

She tells him happy lies. _Mother called. She said she’s coming home._

She tells him scary lies. _Father said he was going to kill you in your sleep tonight._

She tells him mean lies. _Uncle Iroh said your form was sloppy. He said he wishes he never got you those swords._

She tells him sad lies. Lies she almost wishes were truths. Lies she whispers in the dark of his room, gathered up under his arms as he shakes with pain _. Someone will notice, Zuzu. Someone will take you away._

Azula is a fast learner, and sometimes the lies convince her too.

* * *

The first time she sees Zuko try to stand up for himself, she hides behind the door.

Even if he can’t sense it, even if he can’t get it through his stupid brain that Father has these _looks_ , she knows.

She doesn’t understand why he can’t just _read_ Father! Why he can’t just do what Father wants. Why he can’t just be normal.

She sees Father’s spine straighten, just a little.

Sees him set his feet just a little further apart, like he was starting a kata.

She sees him loom over Zuko, hands already raising.

“I don’t know what you _want_!” Zuko yells, “ _I don’t understand!_ ”

Azula doesn’t breathe as the fist rockets into the side of his head.

She doesn’t breathe as the hand clenches into his hair and slams him into the wall.

She doesn’t breathe as Zuko’s defiance flows out of him, red and hot and sticky as it drips onto the linoleum.

* * *

Azula is a fast learner.

She learns that it almost doesn’t matter what Zuko does.

She even experiments. She says the same things he says, in the same tones of voice, with the same posture.

Zuko gets slapped or punched or thrown into his room or out into the garden or pushed down stairs.

Zuko is disrespectful, and stupid, and pathetic and weak and hopeless.

She gets that warm hand on her shoulder.

She is independent, and smart, and strong and worthy.

Azula is a fast learner.

She learns that the problem isn’t Zuko’s behavior. The problem is Zuko.

* * *

The first time Father loses control, she can’t stop watching.

Zuko screams the whole way home.

Father shouts, and hits, and smashes his head against the car door.

Zuko kneels on the kitchen floor, blood and tears and sweat covering his face.

Father yells about disappointments and failures and disrespect and suffering.

Zuko whimpers and yelps and cries and screams.

Father holds the iron to flesh and smiles as it burns.

Zuko falls.

Azula watches Father throw her brother’s limp body over his shoulder. Azula obeys when he summons her. When he tells her to get a coat. When he tells her they’re going out.

It doesn’t matter that Zuko doesn’t have a coat. Or shoes.

With a swoop of fear that she’s going to get caught, that she’s going to be hurt, that she’s going to be beaten and burned and dumped just like Zuko, Azula dashes back inside to grab the flip phone someone had abandoned years ago in the junk draw in the hall.

She programs in their uncle’s number.

Uncle always liked Zuko.

Azula joins her father in the car, and doesn’t glance back at the lump of flesh sprawled in the back seat.

They drive.

Father talks about legacy. About responsibility, and respect, and family.

Azula doesn’t look at her brother. Azula doesn’t think about the stuttering moans still escaping his mouth. Azula doesn’t think about the fact that he’s already shivering and her breath is misting a little even in the car.

They stop at a park.

Azula pulls up short. This is the park. The park where she, Zuko and Mother used to come. There’s the swing set Zuko used to push her on. The duck pond where they threw little scraps of bread. The field full of daisies where they made crowns.

Father doesn’t lay Zuko down in the grass.

He drops him.

Zuko sprawls face down into the mud, and is still.

Father turns away, and Azula makes use of her quick movements and quiet, earned by years of martial arts training, and slips the phone into his hand.

Father doesn’t talk on the way home.

Azula is glad of it.

* * *

Azula is a fast learner.

She learns that Zuko isn’t coming back. She doesn’t want him to come back. She doesn’t want to watch him bleed anymore.

She says no, when Uncle offers to take her too.

She doesn’t need to leave.

Father loves her.

Father approves of her.

Father knows she is loyal, and respectful, and that she will do what she is told.

Father loves her.

She doesn’t need whatever Iroh is offering.

The kitchen smells like burning and blood.

The house is quiet, without the daily sounds of her clumsy older brother stumbling around.

Without the shouting, or the screaming, or the muffled sobs in the night.

* * *

The first time she hears the voices, she hasn’t seen Father in days.

She doesn't like the empty house.

She doesn’t like being alone in it, with the ghosts of memories of blood and screaming.

They tell her to invite her friends to come over.

They tell her to unlock the liquor cabinet and pass around the amber liquids.

They tell her to drink, and be merry, and have fun.

They tell her that the burn at the back of her throat, the weight in her stomach, the pounding in her head, is good for her.

Like Zuko's lessons were good for him.

This is how she will learn.

They tell her to do whatever she wants, because she is Azula, and she is untouchable.

* * *

Azula is a fast learner.

She learns that Mai and Ty Lee don’t want to hear about how amazing her father is.

She learns that they try to talk to Zuko at school, and that he ignores them, just like he ignores her.

She learns that they think he can’t see out of the disfigured side of his face.

She learns that it’s hard to not care.

Azula is a fast learner.

* * *

The first time Father hits her, it’s been almost three years since Zuko left.

The tension between them rises and rises until it crashes.

So she makes up a lie.

It’s a scary lie, and a happy lie, and a sad lie, and a mean lie, all at once.

_Father wants you back. Show him that report card. Tell him you’re better. He wants you home._

Zuko comes, and there’s no more tension between her and Father.

She is his loyal daughter. She loves him, respects him. Flirts with the lines on worshiping him.

The first time Father hits her is the last time.

* * *

Azula is a fast learner.

She learns that there are new rules, here, in the world beyond Father.

That Father gave her to Iroh because he didn’t care about her like she thought he did.

She learns that pills are counted, and mouths are checked for swallowing.

She learns that there are cameras in the bathrooms, but not in the stalls.

She learns that none of the doors lock except the one leading to the guest waiting area.

She learns that Zuko can’t be in the same room with her for three minutes before he staggers out, clutching at his chest, sweat streaming down his face like his heart isn’t beating. Maybe it had something to do with the drawing of the boy in blood and lightning.

She learns that group is easier than individual therapy.

She learns that the other kids are not _more_ or _less_ fucked up than her. They are fucked up _different_.

She learns that the voices are quieter when she takes her medications. Quieter when she listens to music. Quieter when she’s with other people.

Louder when she’s alone, louder when she’s angry, louder when she’s with Zuko.

Finger nails dig into old scar tissue and she recoils. When did she do that? Blood under her nails and her brother holding back tears as he clutches his face and scrambles to his feet.

She learns that she almost killed him, and that she can’t remember properly. She learns that she sometimes blacks out when she draws. She learns many hidden memories from her drawings.

She learns a scarred boy bent over a table and screaming.

She learns a mother’s touch on her face as a father pushes her out of the door and slams it.

She learns the hundreds of hazy, faded memories of high pitched whining and rocking and hands flapping and hair tugging, and how they all end with screaming.

She learns that the medication helps.

That drawing helps.

She learns that maybe Zuko wasn't the problem. Maybe she wasn't the problem. It's hard to think about who the problem might have been.

She learns that she doesn’t need to win her therapist. Or win her therapy.

That being outside just to sit, and not to practice katas for hours a day is nice.

That eating junk food with the others, snuck in by a younger sibling the day before, is practically euphoric.

She learns that there is a way to be better. A way to minimize the voices. A way not to hurt anyone ever again.

She learns that she can stop that, if she ties.

Azula is a fast learner.

* * *

The first time Azula says sorry to anyone, it’s to Zuzu.

She had laughed in his face as she’d taunted him. She’d teased the worst things she could think of, the horrible things that matched the one time the voices remember seeing the scarred boy screaming on the table.

And she’d been right.

She hadn’t made it up.

She hadn’t hallucinated it, or dreamed it, or lied.

Father had done it, and Zuko had screamed for mercy and been ignored. Had been laughed at. Had been hit.

Azula apologizes. And means it.

* * *

Azula is a fast learner.

She learns that this group of friends don't follow orders, or listen to instructions.

She learns that they defend her brother loudly, and clearly, and passionately, even when he tries to wave them off.

She learns that the blue eyed boy loves her brother more than anyone else ever has, except maybe Iroh, and that she doesn’t even feel jealous. She’s almost... proud.

She learns that Mai and Ty Lee seem to like her better like this. Without the make up and the cruelty and the desperation to prove herself _better_.

She learns that she can build friendships. That it takes effort, and time, and being kind.

She learns that it’s still laughably easy to tell Zuko a lie, but that getting him to trust her truths is unimaginably hard.

She learns that she doesn’t even like martial arts. That Zuko is better than her, even without his heart pumping properly. That she doesn’t mind. That she’s proud of that, too.

She learns that she enjoys watching Zuko in the silly play his drama club puts on at Christmas.

She learns that listening to him rave about something exciting is captivatingly endearing.

She learns that she can still only do it for ten minutes, and that the four hour monologues about set designs and casting choices are best left to Iroh.

She learns that she likes tea, even though she didn’t want to. She learns that her favorite is jasmine, too.

She learns that no one is competing any more. That she doesn’t need to prove herself worthy of that tiny pat on the shoulder, or the incredible reward of _not being Zuko_.

She learns that she can try new things, and be bad, and fail, and not be disappointing.

She learns that Zuko sees in blurred grays through his bad eye. She learns how to use Iroh’s ancient camera, and his bathroom with blackout curtains. She learns how to take and develop photographs that look how Zuko sees.

She learns that this makes him cry.

She learns that not all crying is fear and hurt and _make-it-stop_.

She learns that Zuko has discovered a magic he’s convinced their mother understood, but that they’d lost. That Sokka and Iroh know about the magic, but Father and Zuko and Azula didn’t.

She learns that he’s talking about spirts damned _hugs_ , and she laughs before she realizes he’s serious. She launches herself at him and squeezes his chest and tells him hugs aren’t magic. He tells her she’s wrong.

She learns that he doesn’t flinch when she reaches out to him anymore.

She learns that there is safety, and acceptance, and love in Iroh’s house. In the tea shop. In the theatre. In the community center where she, Zuko, and twelve old men play Pai Sho. In the school cafeteria when her friends and Zuko’s friends blend together.

She learns this slowly. She learns it gradually, and painfully, and with so many unlearnings she’s convinced that no one will want to teach her again.

Azula learns slowly.

And that’s not dangerous anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> haha I lied I guess - this one just kind of wrote itself. I still have 1 more almost done. Not quite at the end of the line yet.


End file.
